


Heat Wave

by LivingInSmilesIsBetter (axm)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut, heat wave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axm/pseuds/LivingInSmilesIsBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a heatwave in NYC - and Jo's ready to snap</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt at the Forever-Fanfiction tumblr: it's a heatwave in NYC and Jo's ready to snap (M rated Mortinez Fic please!)

A rivulet of sweat escaped from her hairline, trailing down the side of her face, smearing makeup that hadn't even been worth the time it took to put on that morning. Jo sighed as she wiped the back of her hand across her brow. _Damn._ It was hot. She hadn't heard the latest temperature update, wasn't sure she wanted to know. The heatwave this summer was persistent. The hottest summer since 2010; she was hearing those words already, and the summer was little more than half over. Outside was bad, but inside might be hotter still. Budgeting cuts kept air-conditioning to a minimum, or not at all during her shifts, it seemed. Scraping her hair back, she twisted it around and secured it into a small bun, keeping it off her neck, grasping at relief where she could.

Cold shower, cold beer, sleeping in the freezer - that last thought didn't sound at all ridiculous to her right now. Antarctica. It'd be winter down there now. Temperatures in the negatives, deep snow, and icebergs. _Bliss_.

"Jo?"

She blinked out of her frozen wasteland daydreams, and shifted her attention to the man standing before her - looking just as uncomfortable as she felt.

"Hey, Henry," she greeted him, the words puffed out on an exhausted breath. "News?"

"My report is complete," he replied.

Henry, she had learned over the past few days, wasn't cut out for New York summers. He wasn't exactly a shorts and t-shirt type of guy, and seemed most comfortable in the dead of winter when he could wrap his London-born body in coats and scarfs. Even in summer, it seemed, he always found a way to work a thin, satin scarf into his outfit, despite his obvious discomfort. He looked good, though, she could admit that. His tan had deepened recently, his cheeks were a little pinker today from the heat of the precinct, and – he was smirking at her… Clearing her throat, trying to hide the fact she'd just been blatantly checking him out – and busted doing so – she kept her voice as even as possible. "The wife swears it was suicide."

"Lie," he replied, the sparkle in his eyes still taunting her.

Ignoring it, she asked, "And you know this how?"

"Lye," he repeated.

She wanted to bang her head against the desk, and then maybe his as well. He grinned at her. Nope, his head first. "Henry, so help me, if you don't explain - and fast - I might shoot you."

"As interesting as the result of that could be..." He flashed her another grin. "What I am saying is that he was poisoned with _lye_."

"Lye?" she repeated.

"The truth, I'm afraid."

She threw him a withering glare. "Don't test me right now."

"Sodium hydroxide," he replied. "Ingested."

Jo frowned. "Suicide?"

"Less than likely."

"Why?" she prompted.

"This was slow acting. It may have been ingested up to a month ago, with the damage to the esophagus and stomach eroding over time. He would have been in immense pain for weeks. Not a fast exit from this life."

"No." Jo pursed her lips as she scanned through the documents on the computer. "There's no mention of hospital visits in the past few weeks. The only suggestion he was unwell was the leave of absence from work, which started…" She paused, and then raised her eyes to meet Henry's. "Three weeks ago."

"I imagine that's when the initial poisoning took place."

"And what?" she wondered. "He stayed at home and suffered though it?"

"Unlikely, at least not by choice. He wouldn't have been able to eat, and the pain would have been unbearable. It ate through his stomach, his esophagus was no longer functional. It had begun to eat through his intestines when he died from septic shock."

"Surely he would have sought help."

"Or found a way to end the suffering sooner, were he indeed suicidal."

Jo grasped a piece of construction paper and began fanning herself with it in an effort to end her own suffering. "So, murder then."

"I would be inclined to start with the wife."

Jo paused fanning the warm air across her face, and said, "She alibied out."

"Another woman, close to him. A mistress, perhaps."

"Hanson's already on it."

Henry shifted his weight, his brow furrowing for a moment. "It is _stifling_ in here."

It took everything Jo had not to roll her eyes. "No kidding?"

"How can you concentrate?"

"With difficulty."

He eyed her for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, this won't do. Come with me, bring whatever you need."

She remained in her seat, eyes widening in confusion. "Bring what where?"

"Your case files, bring them to my office," he said, saying the words like the answer was painfully obvious.

"Why?"

"It's much cooler there."

She blinked for a moment, and then actually began to consider it. He worked at the morgue… It was basically just a giant freezer. Oh, God, that sounded like heaven – apart from the corpses, but she could ignore that. Yes, it sounded like a fantastic idea.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Okay." Pushing her chair out, she swept an armful of folders off her desk, and nodded to him. "Let's go." As they strode past Hanson, she said, "Call me when you dig up a mistress."

"Where're you going?" Hanson asked, beads of sweat at his hairline, shirt stained a little darker around his pits.

"To the morgue."

"Why?" Hanson queried.

"Giant. Freezer," she said in response.

Hanson's face fell. "Please take me with you," he begged.

Jo grinned and kept walking. Having an ME for a best friend certainly had its perks.

* * *

Following Henry out of the elevator, Jo stepped into the morgue - where she was hit with a burst of cold air. "Oh my God," she exclaimed, the contrast of temperatures almost knocking her off her feet. She adjusted quickly to the change, closed her eyes, and eased her damp shirt off from where the material was sticking to her skin. "That feels amazing."

Opening her eyes, she caught the slack-jawed expression on Henry's face, and became aware of how breathy her voice must have sounded, that combined with the moment of pure bliss that must have been all over her face as the cool air surrounded her... Well, she could only imagine how she'd looked.

Her gaze locked on his, and for a moment they stood there, Henry obviously trying to snap himself out of his daze, her own thoughts degrading fast. The heat had got to her. It must have. That was the only explanation for the images of a shirtless Henry filling her melting brain. She blinked rapidly, and dropped her eyes to the folders in her arms, before striding into his office, and claiming the extra chair as her own.

It seemed to take him a little longer to come back to his senses, avoiding her eyes as he finally made his way to his desk.

Dropping the folders on the hard wooden surface, she pulled her chair forward, and began to work through her notes opposite him. Professionalism kicked in, and talk turned to the victim, and the suspects. There was something nice about it, the two of them sharing the space, even if she still felt all kinds of gross from being stuck in the precinct for so long.

 _Lye_ , she decided as she read through his report, _was an awful way to go_. "I can't imagine how much pain he would have been in," she mused out loud, "Acid eating through his intestines for weeks..."

"It's certainly horrific," Henry agreed.

"Could he have survived?" she asked, lifting her chin, meeting his serious eyes. "If he'd found help in time?"

Henry pursed his lips in thought, and then nodded. "Perhaps, depending on the extent of the damage at the time. But he would have faced multiple surgeries, years of healing."

She took in Henry's furrowed brow, the lines marring his skin. He was haunted, she knew, but in this moment he seemed more so. "You've seen this before?"

He nodded, sadness filling his eyes. "Ellen Etheridge," he told her. "In 1913 she murdered her husband's children with lye."

"Horrific."

"She was."

"You studied the case?"

The haunted look in his eyes remained as he replied, "Something like that."

Henry sure did say the strangest things sometimes, and that response was no different. Something like that? What exactly? A rap at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she turned as Lucas poked his head into the room. "Phone for you, Doc," he said, hand extended, phone being offered. Jo reached for it, and then passed it on to Henry.

"So lye," Lucas said, still hovering in the doorway. "Nasty way to go."

"Sure is," Jo replied.

"How's the investigation coming along?"

Jo shrugged. "Just starting really."

"Of course."

She gave Lucas a tight smile as Henry strolled around his desk and returned the phone to his assistant. "Thank you, Lucas."

"Anytime."

He hesitated in the doorway, Jo and Henry both looking at him expectantly, before getting the hint and backing out, closing the door behind him.

"He likes to be included," Jo said gently.

"He reminds me of a puppy at times," Henry replied, an amused smile on his lips now.

"Your mood has lightened," Jo told him, smiling in return. "That call held good news, I take it."

"Abe is calling me home for dinner," Henry said in response.

And so their day together was over. She'd grown fond of Henry in the months spent working with him, enjoyed their time together, and was always a little sad when they parted ways at the end of the day. "You should go then," Jo replied, giving him a smile she hoped didn't show her disappointment.

"He said you're to join us."

"Oh?"

"It's almost six, call it a night, Detective. Good food and company awaits."

"I suppose I can pick this up tomorrow," she said in acceptance. One thing she had learned in the six or so months spent with Henry, he was hard to say no to. Especially when it involved food. Or alcohol.

One thing she was learning about herself was that she didn't actually want to say no to him.

* * *

Dinner had been fantastic, as always. They were on their second bottle of wine when Abe excused himself for the night and left them alone outside. The sun was sinking behind skyscrapers, the evening cooling off slowly, but not yet at the point of being comfortable, and she was feeling the warm buzz of the wine in her veins.

And then there was Henry, still with a damn scarf draped around his neck, thin and silky and neatly in place.

If he didn't quit talking about London summers she might strangle him with his scarf.

Or gag him with it.

And then the images flooded her mind. Henry, with the thin silken scarf between his teeth; Henry, with that white shirt on the floor; Henry, with just that scarf tied tight around his wrists and nothing more. Christ, where did that even come from? She glanced into the wine glass, wondering what exactly was in it. She had seen him shirtless before, that image hadn't been hard to recall. She had seen him shirtless, and bound, a scar, he had almost explained, marring his chest. She licked her lips, and the buzz in her veins descended.

"Jo?"

She blinked away the images and felt the blush rising as Henry's eyes bored into her.

"Are you okay?"

She swallowed the last of the wine in one go. "I think this heat has fried my brain."

He gave her an odd look. "We can move back inside."

"It's fine," she said, not wanting to move. Happy to sit here, with him, just them.

"It could be the alcohol," he told her.

"I think it's a combination."

"You feel okay?" He was looking at her in concern, studying her through a doctor's eyes, one second away from rising and feeling her forehead.

"Really, I'm fine." She wasn't. She was hot, and bothered, and thoroughly turned on.

But he was on his feet, moving around the table and dropping down in the chair beside her. "Dehydration on a day like this is common." His face contorted in horror. "Oh the wine was a terrible idea." He was moving again, about to stand, in search of water, she guessed. Dropping a hand to his forearm, she squeezed it gently, gaining his attention and keeping him in place.

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"No, Jo, I insist—"

She kissed him then. She covered his lips with her own, one hand still clutching his arm, and stole any further words right out of him. She felt him tense up, his lips unmoving against hers, but she didn't stop. She kissed him with everything she had, until his own lips parted and caressed hers back. And then she _couldn't_ stop. His fingers curled around her hips, and she leaned in ever closer. She lost herself in the feeling of kissing a man with such passion, lost herself in his mouth open and hot against hers, her tongue sliding past his. During all the fleeting one night stands in dark unfamiliar rooms, she had never kissed any with more than tight closed lips. But this wasn't a meaningless kiss; this was _Henry_. A rush of heat spread through her, burning her up from the inside out. She broke away before her blood could boil in her veins.

Forcing ragged breaths between parted, swollen lips, she stared wide-eyed at him, and his expression matched hers. Both a little startled, a little confused, trying to make sense of what just happened. _Why_. And then, she didn't care why. She leaned in to claim his lips again, and this time he met her halfway, his hands sliding around her body, drawing her in. A whispered voice in the back of her mind told her this was wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to listen, not when his tongue was in her mouth and his fingertips were skimming up under her shirt. Not when her own hands were slipping down to his ass and her teeth were scraping along his lower lip.

He eased her to her feet, his hands exploring her curves as he walked her backwards towards the door. His lips nipped at hers, his hands untucked and unbuttoned, until he could touch her skin unhindered. Her back hit the door, and he pressed her harder against the solid surface, his lips connecting with her neck, sucking above her pulse. Arching her spine at the contact, Jo's eyes fluttered closed, and she released a sigh of pleasure. She trailed her fingers up his back, threaded them through his soft hair, massaging his scalp while his lips assaulted her neck.

Loath to break the moment, Jo tugged gently at his hair, getting his attention. "You got a bedroom, right, Henry?"

His lips slid up her neck, along her jaw, to her ear. "Is that your way of asking to move this there?"

"Please," she pleaded, his warm breath tickling her ear.

He shifted against her, pressed a little harder, and she turned her head and claimed his mouth, working his lips, the feel of him hard against the crotch of her jeans making her forget the need to move this inside, to somewhere a little less public. "No," she exhaled, breaking away from his mouth. "Inside."

"Inside," he agreed. But it didn't stop him from touching her, from trailing his lips across her overheated skin while they shuffled inside, him blindly guiding her through to his bedroom.

Closing the bedroom door behind them, she made quick work of his shirt, peeling it off his sweat-slicked body, letting it fall to the floor. Her palms roamed up his bare chest, until the tips of her fingers met the shredded skin that had healed into the scar that still concerned her. He was alive, his heart was pounding against her palms, but how he'd survived she couldn't begin to guess.

"I'll get the rest of the story out of you one day," she murmured, before her lips replaced her fingers and her tongue met the damaged skin.

She felt him inhale, felt the sudden intake of air, his chest moving against her mouth. She wondered, for a moment, if he was going to tug her away, but instead his own fingers tangled in her hair and he held her there. Exploring, she learned every raised line, every indentation, in his skin. When she was satisfied she had learned all she could from his skin, she raised her head, and slid her lips across his.

The last of their clothing was shed with haste, his lips on hers as he lowered her onto the bed, only breaking away to slide the protection on faster than she'd ever seen any man manage it.

Nestled between her splayed legs, his palms cupped her face, and his nose nuzzled hers. "What are we doing, Jo?" he asked, his voice low, the words murmured against her lips.

"Something that's been building for a while," she whispered.

"And tomorrow?"

Her lips covered his, silencing the words, denying him an answer. He sighed into her mouth and she feared he would leave her, but then his hand trailed down to her waist, he shifted against her, she raised her hips, and he filled her.

What started with a slow glide grew into a dance of desperation. Giving in completely, they moved with urgency, fuelled by repressed desires. She clung to his slick skin, rolling her hips, meeting his thrusts. Her eyes slipped closed when he pressed a palm against the back of her thigh, when he eased her leg a little higher, and hit the spot within that never failed to end her. The friction was right where she needed it, the tension built until she couldn't take anymore – and she shattered beneath him.

Gripping his body, her nails digging into his upper back, leaving her mark in his skin, she clung to him, riding out the waves of orgasm. His own pace picked up and he hurtled towards his own release, her name leaving his lips as he came.

* * *

He lay upon her afterwards, sated, his lips pressed into her shoulder, breathing hard. She swept her fingers up and down his back, easing him back to her. There was an intimacy in just holding him while he got his breath back. Easing his chest off hers, he caressed her lips with his once more, and then untangled himself from her. He tugged her with him as he rolled away, arranging them so she was on her side, turned away from him, and he curled into her body from behind. His arm wrapped around her waist, his nose nudged her cheek, and his lips grazed her jaw.

"This is the part where I usually sneak out," Jo admitted, her voice low in the darkened room.

" _Stay._ "

She'd had plenty of one-night stands, more casual sex than she'd ever admit to, but this was different. She'd never slept with a best friend before. _Not since…_

"And then what?"

"I find these things tend to figure themselves out," Henry replied, his voice sure. " _We_ will figure this out."

Jo nodded against him, but didn't reply. She sank back against him, and just before sleep overcame her, her last thought, before her eyes fluttered shut, was: _They had to; she couldn't lose him_.

* * *

**Note: I cannot begin to tell you how difficult it was to write Mortinez (Jenry?) smut. I really love their friendship as it currently is. But I saw the prompt, and couldn't resist. I'm sorry it got a bit angsty.  
**

**The Castle fan in me couldn't resist the title ;)**

_**Thoughts?** _


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